— Suspicious Minds

She wasn’t home alone, of course, she wasn’t. The chances were faint, but he still hoped they could solve it one-to-one, without the relentless awareness that another pair of ears could be nearby, listening. There was no going back. Seeing the little girl in the doorway, his blatant perplexity was quickly ousted by this ostensibly sympathetic face he pulls when he doesn’t know how he should react. Now it was hard to maintain with this particular thought at the back of his head — what if he was looking at his daughter? It was absurd, he wanted to believe it was nonsense.

“Hi, Minyu.” He mustered up a compliant smile and then his eyes went to Minhee who was standing right behind the child. “Well, it is a good morning,” Jiyong spoke more monotonously this time. “I thought I would drop by, see how you’re-- how you two are doing.” Although he wanted to disappear, vanish into thin air and never have to deal with what was to come, he stared at her unflinchingly. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

AFTER PARTY ( 2017 )

Forthwith, the familiar warmth evokes the moments he stared in amazement at Ashley when she was completely unaware of his lingering gaze. There was something so hauntingly admirable about her when she was just going about her business. It was miraculous and he couldn’t ever come up with an adequate way to elucidate why. Quite often, as his eyes were fixed on her so steadfastly as if he was deadly scared of missing out on a single second of the candidness he found so otherworldly, he would find himself getting intensely moved by this elusiveness. He felt like a fool each time tears were starting to spring into his eyes, even though he knew there was nothing shameful about it. If she ever was close, too close to see him so melted, sometimes the only resort was pulling her into a hug. Right now, he is just as vulnerable like back then. Currently there’s a tinge of painfulness to that.

He feels like a fool. Not for coming here, that’s one thing he cannot regret, but for letting his heart beat like crazy. All he can do is hope Ashley won’t pick up on that very clatter, because for him it sounds like a deafening gong which refuses to be silenced. And that’s what unjustifiably foolish to him, falling back into his patters so soon, as if not a day has passed and nothing has ever separated their paths. Each resentment that’s been sitting at the bottom of his chest, each hostile emotion their harsh split has kindled — everything dissolves. Years might’ve passed yet his main weakness he has been doggedly denying remained. Maybe he never really moved on, and maybe this time round he will put his pernicious hubris and imprudence inside a pocket, so his view won’t be clouded. Disappointing her again would devour his dignity to the last pieces, not to mention dealing with the loss once more.

Jiyong exhales a content sigh before they inch away from one another. For a while his look concentrates on the floor and upon sensing the lump in his throat, he hopes his eyes aren’t glassy nor red-rimmed. So he reluctantly lifts his head to meet Ashley’s gaze as his hand goes up to rest on the side of his neck. Leisurely he rubs the almost dried up tears off; a guttural chortle sneaks in between his lips suddenly. “I would be really hurt if you weren’t,” he enunciates with the typical glaze of jocularity to disguise the true meaning behind his words, and also to simply prevent himself from becoming more lachrymose than necessary. Thankfully, Ashley speechlessly suggests a change of scenery. “Who said getting old would be fun?” Emitting a quiet snort, he sits down and intertwines his fingers, soon starting to restlessly twiddle his thumbs. Instead of searching for an appropriate spot to focus on, now he absently observes the nocturnal panorama spreading outside the tall windows.

Like yanked out of a daze, in a flash his head turns in Ashley’s direction and it aches to know she was assuming he could eventually brush off her invitation. He can’t blame her for thinking so. Considering that he wasn’t always the most righteous and credible person in the room, and just moments ago he was asking his own self why the hell he was so impulsive to get here, there’s no wonder it crossed her mind. Nibbling on his bottom lip, shortly he ponders why it was him out of all people that she called up. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be here, because he’s beyond grateful join her on such a big day. Whenever there was anything celebration-worthy, even the smallest of achievements, Jiyong would catch himself at the verge of dialing her number. Perhaps it’s the case with her, too. The difference is that she actually did reach out. “The options I had to choose from were coming here and immediate decapitation, so you can imagine the latter seemed much less appealing.” Loosening his uptight posture, he leans back in the seat. “I’m glad you called. This early. Half an hour later and I could be in a not so... communicative state.” He cracks a frisky grin; another cover-up for his inner turmoil he’s terrified to fully surrender to. “I would hate not to congratulate you personally.”

— Twisted Nerve

He snorted at the younger’s antics, shaking his head lightly, although he was sure the man wasn’t waiting for any form of approval. “No need to when it’s just you and me,” he quipped along, almost mentioning he should feel like the lucky one, given he didn’t need to deal with Jiyong’s authoritarian tone. It was all harmless waggery. So far. He wouldn’t really let anyone else of Daniel’s rank act so freewheeling around him, mainly because he just relished the feeling of superiority, but he knew — or hoped — that the idol had enough functioning brain cells to be aware where the line of this latitude was. But for now he laughed at it, and in quite a genuine way.

“Yeah, it’s much better to have a choice. And proverbial freedom.” Jiyong bared his teeth; his words had a thin lining of cynicism. Sitting beside Daniel, his eyes wandered to the displayed bottles to check the range this bar had to offer. “I’m not too picky. Some good whiskey on the rocks will do.”

reunion’s / minhee & jiyong

It was sheer formality. Or at least it seemed to be one. Have a little talk, show some interest, don’t let your facade go down. He was used to those procedures, so that one should go just as smoothly. “It’s a good trait, I would say,” he commented shortly, his lips remained guardedly curled up, as if displaying an ounce more of practiced enthusiasm would give his game away.

As Minhee spoke, he kept on nodding lightly to let her know his mind hadn’t drifted away. Though his brows raised at the mention of her studio. “That’s... That’s great,” he interjected and later breathed out a chuckle upon realizing it was his turn to speak. “A bit. For over a year now I’ve been the head of a record label, so that’s pretty time-consuming. But I’m not complaining. Me and idleness don’t go well together neither.” He folded arms in front of his chest and looked around. “Anyway, how do you feel about being back in here?”

Franz Kafka, from The Complete Stories (via violentwavesofemotion)

— Frozen In Time

The amendments in the setting are insignificant enough to be ignored. Thanks to those scarce upgrades, being in the exact same place they had no scruples turning into their little kingdom years ago feels like prancing inside a perfectly replicated imagination. For better or for worse. Looking around, in his mind he can bring back the undecayed picture of a usual scene happening in here almost impeccably. “He really is a man of his word,” Jiyong remarks with a breathy chuckle before his undivided attention gets pinned to the table, their table Ashley gestures at. The true focal point. “I wonder who occupies it these days.” It’s the very first thought that storms across his head and he stays there rooted to the ground for a while, with an absent expression plastered over his face and his astounded gaze drilling into the lifeless piece of furniture, which ironically seemed to have lived a life on its own.

“Woah,” he utters, snapping out of his transient bafflement before seating himself right next to Ashley. Unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket, he slightly leans froward to rest his elbows on his knees. An amused grin blooms on his lips at the touched upon occurrence, which was notoriously recurrent back in the day. “That was the only way to drink this sugary water. I still remember when Mrs. Seo told me to go home and treat my flu when in fact I was half seas over,” he glances off to the side and the laughter leaving his mouth comes out sounding fairly bittersweet. Maybe due to this youthful folly he now deems having a margarita at noon completely normal. Jiyong pensively nods in agreement; despite several bumps on the road, it was a good time. Suddenly he straightens up and a glimmer of boyish mischief shines in his eyes as he turns to Ashley. “I mean... It’s not like alcohol’s inaccessible here. Besides that, what other opportunity can be better than this one?”

— Tuning In

Before setting his feet inside Cheongnam Jiyong silently hoped the school changed beyond recognition, just so clashing with the memories he had abandoned within these walls wouldn’t be as crucial. But it was still the same shabby pandemonium. Walking down the hallways and peeking into classrooms, where he was wreaking havoc more often than paying attention, he was unable to determine whether the musty scent was solely some placebo projected by the subliminal awareness of the place’s dusty permanence or it was actually saturated with invisible mildew. He was sick to his stomach.

Deluging his repulsion with alcohol wasn’t the best of ideas, but what else was there to do? Seeing almost everyone else nursing their own drinks was so detestably reminiscent of the first time he was peer pressured into letting his reason flow away along with countless ounces of liquor. In fact, it was high school all over again. Nothing had changed, from the building itself to those intangible zests.

He felt like a few more minutes spent in solitude in this ironically crammed space would knock him into that state of reflective pensiveness he didn’t want to be in yet, nor ever. If he were to tally up the days at Cheongnam High, it wasn’t as bad. Because it always could’ve been worse, what was no consolation, and he knew that all in all he was a lucky kid who didn’t have to tackle greater torments. In truth, a couple of disruptions happening during the last months seriously fueled his hatred for this shithole.

Fighting with the sudden — and very unwelcome — distinctiveness which must’ve started to kick in along with the drinks he’s had, his gaze jounces back and forth, as if he’s in the midst of a heated debate and so his look lands on one orator and then the other, trying to keep track with the rising arguments. But in reality his attention shifts between strange faces and Baekhyun, with whom he struck up a little conversation. Jiyong reminds himself of that and promptly attempts to mask up his preoccupied state for which he hasn’t found a reason yet. But the other man might’ve started coming up with those.

“Too crowded, frankly speaking.” His mild laugh is mostly drowned out by the omnipresent cacophony. He puts his glass aside. He could handle more. Without a hitch. But for tonight it’s enough. At least for the time being. What essentially connects him and Baekhyun isn’t a detail he can overlook and treat with disregard. “On the surface they most certainly didn’t,” he gets back to sounding more lighthearted. High school talk, he can settle for that. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing, though. This place and the people could make use of some... alternations. But old habits die hard, they say.”

— Whachu Know

Nobody needed to know what Jiyong was keeping so neatly swept under the rug. Since high school he did end up on the radar more times than necessary, but fortunately the secrets’ which’s grand reveal he feared most remained hidden in the closet. He knew it was the matter of time until those skeletons would start leaking through the crack in the door, but for now he preferred not to sit there and worry about what was probably inevitable. For now he could feel better than most of them, with award-winning produced tracks under his belt and his reputation in the industry doing better than ever.

“There’s something true about that,” he shrugged one shoulder, calling to mind the instances of people who did manage to go from rags to riches, be it material success or metaphorical. “They should. I wish I could see them all overinflating their creations even more for such a meaningless title,” Jiyong sneered, sending Juhyun a quick glance. “Maybe people never really change.”

musique d’ascenseur.

Another day, another set of errands to run. Jiyong’s past self would wince in disapproval at the routine that has taken over his life. But, oddly enough, present Jiyong doesn’t mind a little repetitiveness. After years of nonstop tumults he could thank himself for, he’s more than okay with filling papers, making calls, and organizing documents in his office.

He dwells on that for a few seconds and he soon catches himself laughing under his breath, whilst he’s standing alone in the empty hallway, waiting for the elevator to come to a halt on his floor. Good thing he isn’t forced to take the stairs, his deplorable physical condition is grateful for that.

And ding. The metal door slide open and he struts in. It takes a while for his harmless abstractedness to disintegrate, so he can notice the other passenger. Not spotting the tall figure would be a serious reason for him to start worrying about his sight as well. Especially since he feels they’ve crossed paths before more than once or twice.

As his brain tries to remember the name of the fellow resident, whose build surely could be the object of jealousy for countless professional athletes, Jiyong’s lips curl in a habitual smile.

“Oh, Avery.” There it is. He leans against the wall and his expression becomes more cordial. “I need to pick up some files from my office. You know, bureaucracy,” a breathy chuckle escapes his mouth and then he gives the male a brief once-over. Does he even know what Avery’s doing for a living? “And you? Busy day?”

AFTER PARTY ( 2017 )

Looking back at the more distant past was like trying to make anything out of the blurred shapes coated by the fog, but certain pieces of that retrospective montage were — very often unfortunately — indelible. Just like that one day when the proverbial house of cards collapsed, fatally and leaving no hope for potential retrieval. Maybe it was just him not wanting to see a sufficient solution and remedy for the caused damage, maybe it really was that unrecoverable. He never figured it out, and he never dared to ditch his personal trammels in order to seek the answer. What he deemed irrefutable at the time was that the word hate wasn’t enough to encompass the feelings Ashley must’ve been bearing toward him. Jiyong, on the other hand, felt nothing. He was hollowed out, numb. For better or for worse.

Thus it came across as quite a shocker to sense something like a heart pang whenever he came upon her name anywhere or rediscovered old printed out pictures he kept in a cardboard box along with other palpable memoirs. And, ironically for a present-centered pragmatic like him, he had gathered an abundant collection of those. Many times he considered reducing them to ashes, as though it would also burn out the vivid images in his head, but he could never bring himself to do so. Saying he did enjoy flipping through those pictures capturing what was worth remembering was that kind of a confession he wouldn’t make even at gunpoint.

Getting sentimental over more positive excerpts was obviously a more affable experience than dilating upon the downs they had gone through, especially that unforgettable day when they saw each other for the last time. The events were progressing too rapidly then, as if they were put on fast-forward. It was filled with shouting, mostly one-sided. He didn’t muster up the courage to utter a single word and besides that he deemed this trial pointless. Ashley’s terrifying outburst wasn’t baseless and he thought it would be eternally enduring. That’s why her initiating the first meeting after the years made him plunge into an erratic kaleidoscope of emotions.

His indifference is merely a mask which shatters when he hears her voice, now in person. The corners of his lips twitch, gathering the strength to form a smile that would at least pass as genuine, but instead there’s a frail grimace of indecisiveness lingering on his perplexed face. He only snorts at her little remark; everything he wants to stutter out gets stuck in his larynx. Jiyong is uptight like never. His jaw clenches due to the inward tension he’s trying to surmount. When Ashley approaches him, he feels like some sickly prey who knows too well a way out is nonexistent. And again he wants to blurt out something, anything, but he stays rooted and silent. The forced confidence he has walked in with has perished.

As ridiculous as it may sound, Jiyong holds a small assumption that any minute he can get a welcoming package in form of a burning slap or a punch. He wouldn’t say he doesn’t deserve it.

Being so submerged in these multiplying speculations on what’s to come, it takes him a while to realize there’s hardly any distance between them. He stares at Ashley like a deer in headlights and finally his mouth writhes into something resembling a beam, a bittersweet one. “Do you want me to leave?” The question rolls off his tongue with a facetious undertone yet there’s a thick layer of seriousness underneath. However, he doesn’t want to leave. Not at all. With her arms around him, for a second he isn’t sure what to do with his. Eventually he hugs her back, tenderly. And it feels like home, and simultaneously strange. It’s been so long, perhaps too long. “I missed you. I really did,” Jiyong murmurs lowly, almost hushed as he subtly pulls her closer. The moment he thought would never happen was worth this seemingly endless wait. But here they are.